Carnaval Atomico
by Rosie Real
Summary: The Marquez issue is over and all is peaceful... El Mariachi has taken Sands in to live with him and Chicle Boy can not part from his blind friend. A sweet, yet psyhco family story...


Chapter One:

The Brotherhood of Psychosis

"Man, give me some freaking space will you!" El scolded as he swatted Sands away from him. El Mariachi was trying to write a letter to his good friend, Father Amando, who was leaving the Parish for home after hearing news of his sick sister and El was going to miss him very much… Except he couldn't really write a letter with Sands hanging curiously over his shoulder.

"But I wanna' see what you're writing!" The usually-tough CIA Agent moaned like a five-year-old.

"Sands beat it. I will explain later. Just give me some freaking breathing space," El said as he tried to shield his letter, which was full of brotherly confessions toward the priest and dramatic mush of how much he would miss him.

"Hrmmm," Sands growled as he walked out of El's room. "Boring fuck!" He added in before slamming the door blindly on his finger, swearing and correcting his mistake… completely ruining his thunder.

El snorted before getting back to his letter. He knew it was a better idea _not_ to let Sands read the mushy letter… he'd never hear the end of it. Sands wasn't the type of man to feel… sentiments. It only occurred to him then that Sands had no eyes… but no matter, he may even get Sands' 'homo' talk about falling in love with a priest, which was so not true. And anyway… El knew very well that Sands was bisexual… well… He didn't think he actually fell in love with men… Sands just liked the type of people who would kick ass no matter what—and is that person happened to be a man then Sands would sleep with them. He was a bit of a screwball sometimes. El knew this and accepted it. He felt a rather connection to Sands. Almost like they were long, lost brothers or something. Or long, lost best friends. Behind all his sociopathic behaviour, Sands had some appeal to him that El couldn't quite get over. He could be almost like a child.

"MARIACHIIIII!" El jumped when Sands began wailing from the kitchen. El walked out to see Chicle Boy sitting on the couch blocking his ears.

"Such a child," El said with a smile as he helped the man with no eyes off the counter. "What do you want, Sands?" He asked as he cradled Sands' wobbly body.

"I can't find the chips," Sands complained, his voice seeming to get higher, like a young boy's.

"Well of course you can't you blind fuck, you have no eyes," El explained in vulgarity as he pulled down the blue bag of tortilla chips and handed them to Sands.

"Gracias," Sands said with a blind smile as he walked over to the couch. He had to feel his way over.

"Bleckk!" Chicle Boy squeaked when Sands sat on him. Sands jumped and moved aside. "¡Tú tonto sin ojos!" The little boy scolded as Sands glared at him… or about a foot to the right of him.

"I am _not_ a no-eyed idiot!" Sands moaned. El clicked and shook his head. He always thought it was funny how Chicle Boy always spoke in Spanish to Sands and Sands would always speak English to Chicle Boy yet they both understood each other and neither bothered to try to speak the other's language.

"Femme a ta bouche!" El shouted at the two children who were arguing in two different languages.

"Dude, that was _French_," Sands said.

"Sí, es frances," Chicle Boy agreed. El smacked his forehead.

"I thought I would add a bit more diversity to this crazy argument," he said. Sands and Chicle Boy snorted, ignored him, and continued their bilingual argument. "Ay…" El muttered as he walked into the kitchen and began searching for something to eat for dinner. Then it hit him,

"Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, put those chips away!" He scolded. Chicle Boy and Sands, who were now in a fist-fight over the chips, froze and looked up at their father.

"But—" Sands began.

"Uh-ah. Dinnertime. Put them away and come eat something for dinner, now," El commanded. The fighters sighed and stood up. Chicle Boy took Sands' arm and led him to the kitchen table. "What do you want for dinner?" El asked, already prepared for the answer.

"Yo quiero mi pibil," Sands said with a grin. El smacked his forehead.

"Sands, that takes forever to cook and—"

"That is _all_ I will eat," Sands said. Afraid Sands was serious about starving himself if not for getting what he wanted, El began to prepare the pibil. Typical dinnertime in the El-Sands household.


End file.
